


Throw Caution To The Wind (I Can Feel The Sea Breeze)

by CosmicallyLyss



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Angst with an unhappy ending, Apollo and Icarus, Child Death, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Children, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major character death - Freeform, Passage of time, Unhappy Ending, i know the yunsan tag with a slash is in here, i need this to show up in the yunsan tag, that is because even though there is not a romantic relationship, the death is not graphic and is more implied than outright stated, there are very unsubtle references to apollo and icarus, they're 7-8 years old in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 08:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicallyLyss/pseuds/CosmicallyLyss
Summary: "   Their favorite dance is the waltz, though their knobby knees and juvenile clumsiness leave the dance far from perfect. There’s something so enchanting about the rhythm of the dance, something that leaves them both breathless; the obsidian-haired boy explains it’s something called three-four, a concept the bicolored-haired boy doesn’t exactly understand. He can’t keep time with the “one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three” whispered in his ear, and instead uses the crashing waves below him as his metronome, keeping him from stumbling over his feet - at least eighty-nine percent of the time. The way they work is different, but they work together. A symbiotic relationship, mutual support… Atop the cliffside, swaying side to side with clasped hands, mirroring each other’s amused, awestruck grins, they’re fearless. High up, on top of the world, arms outstretched to reach the heavens, they’re fearless.   "__________________________Alternatively, the one where Yunho and San are childhood best friends who have a plan to be in each other's lives forever. It's devastating to realize one misstep can take everything away.
Relationships: Choi San/Jeong Yunho, Jeong Yunho & Choi San
Kudos: 7





	Throw Caution To The Wind (I Can Feel The Sea Breeze)

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAA okay I don't know how many more times I can say it, but this story contains major character death!!!!!!!!!!!!! There is no outright confirmation statement of "this character is dead" but it is very, /very/ heavily implied, and basically impossible to deny. It's angst, it's hurt without comfort, it's an unhappy ending. It's a story about childhood best friends, about platonic soulmates who never got the chance to grow into something more because of a simple mistake. It's a story about accidents and vulnerability, it's what happens when Icarus tries to fly too close to the sun.
> 
> I hope you've heeded my warnings. If you decide to continue on, please enjoy. Not so much the plot, but maybe how it's written? The structure?

Being scared of heights is a pointless thing. A measurement of elevation can’t hurt a person; it’s the fall that’s harmful. Yet nobody ever says they’re afraid of falling. So when the boys leave their houses to play around outside with only the smoldering, blazing heat of the sun to watch over them, they can’t understand why they’re told, “Be careful, you’ll be high up.” What’s so scary about being able to overlook the dazzling sapphire waters of the sea that laps at the bottom of the cliffside? What’s so scary about the warm summer breeze that whips their hair in front of their face, obscuring their view of each other? What’s so scary about the strong, solid earth under their feet, about the rocks that trip them up and make them skin their knees? The answer is easy - the answer is nothing. Being scared of heights, of wind, of ground…it’s all pointless. Fear has no place in their world, not when they’ve got the stability and safety of each other to rely on.

One of the boys, the younger one that’s a bit shorter, with hair as black as coal that’s got dyed blond streaks towards the front, and sparkling moonlight eyes the color of rich earth, likes to watch the sun as it sinks below the horizon. He likes how it turns the cobalt waters to a sea of ruby, and bathes the other - who’s older than him by three months and seventeen days, and taller than him by four-point-three inches (they counted), with hair as black as night and eyes as dark as obsidian, littered with flecks as gold as liquid sunshine - in a fiery glow. It’s magical, ethereal…or perhaps he’s just biased, enamored with how red and gold suit the taller boy perfectly. There’s a special shine to his dark hair during the sunset. It’s vibrant, vivacious… As the sun bids its goodbye, its biggest fan will turn to his friend, a wide grin on his face; the glimmer of a day of mischief still shines in his irises despite the sun’s inability to illuminate the glow. And the friend smiles back, missing teeth marking his youthful grin, the sparkle of the night’s earliest stars reflected in his lustrous eyes. Sunset is a beautiful time - its admirer’s older sister doesn’t think so, though. She considers it to be the death of the day. But the younger brother, though he can understand that interpretation, knows there’s more to it. He can recognize beauty in death.

They spend the nights there when the night is warm enough to permit it. They don’t necessarily have permission to do so, but authority has never seemed to stop them. So when their respective parents are too focused on their older sisters to pay any mind to what their sons do, it’s easy to sneak out from their houses and make their way to each other, guided by nothing but constellations. The taller boy takes some snacks to last them through the night, and the shorter boy - with his obsession of needing to prove he’s the stronger of the two - stakes a claim on the responsibility of taking a tent for them that he’ll try and pitch himself. He completely ignores how he takes so long to reach the destination because it’s heavier than him. When they arrive at the top of the cliff, maybe they’ll harbor some regrets; there’s a chill in the air that rolls up from the water many meters below them and neither of them brought sweatshirts. There’s a tattered blanket that’s been in one of their families for generations, and they find solace in that. That, and each other’s thin arms, still soft with childhood.

The push-and-pull dynamic they share is something that gets their curiosity to run wild, and the kaleidoscope-eyed boy has heard his parents talk about the concept of soulmates before, so he did some research into what they meant - ever the young scholar. He’d found one tale he likes more than others, one that talks about the red string of fate that connects a twin flame to its other half. The boys know they’re too young for the type of love they’ve seen in their parents (Romance in single-digits is a bit too far-fetched for them, despite how mature they might try and act.), but they notice how their looks towards each other are filled with a similar type of adoration. Couple that with the fact that they had been each other’s kindergarten boyfriend...and it’s easy to understand why they think that one day, when they’re much older, they could share with each other the kind of love their parents do.

The advent of autumn is more appreciated by the taller boy. There’s so much he loves about the season… The sights, sounds, smells… The vision of trees that appear to be on fire with how vibrant their leaves are. The crunching of the leaves that wind up under their soles when their fire burns away to embers, and the ashy brown leaves don’t have the strength to stay attached to their branches. The scent of crisp apple and hearty pumpkin that flood the open air speak to how full of vitality the world is. The older boy is infatuated with the season. And the younger boy...can’t fully understand it, even when it’s explained to him. Though, he supposes he can understand autumn’s special sights, sounds, and smells. The colors of autumn...red and gold, mainly. Wrapped around his best friend, he can understand their appeal. His best friend’s laughter that he lets ripple through the atmosphere when he jumps into leaf piles bigger than him, high-pitched, high-volume...that’s appealing, too. The distinct smell of cinnamon that autumn brings, he likes, though it’s a scent he notices year-round every time he gets close to his best friend. The shorter boy’s liking of autumn doesn’t stem from the season itself. It’s the attachment to his best friend that he values.

Winter...it’s generally disliked by them both. Their parents keep a better eye on them in the winter, finally making sure their boys are safe and sound in their beds at night. So no cliffside sleepovers, and when they do manage to sneak away up to their favorite liminal space, its high elevation combined with its location right on the water doesn’t bode well for keeping the kids insulated - especially for the black-and-blonde —haired boy who’s got almost everyone he knows convinced he’s secretly cold-blooded. He’ll act like he’s just fine, though, wearing tee-shirts and shorts just like his best friend, because if his friend’s golden skin can be just fine in the winter chill, his own glacial skin (now turned a rosy pink from the biting cold) will hold up just as well. The push-and-pull, the competition… it’s always been there with the two of them, but it heightens as the seasons change. It’s a race to the top of the cliff, it’s a battle of who can make the biggest snow fort, it’s a competition to see who can stand the longest on their hand-me-down ice skates - both from their older sisters, pink for the shorter boy and purple for the taller. Nothing changes about their friendship, nothing quells the love in their hearts they’ve got for each other. The rivalry they develop serves one purpose, they think - to give the both of them a reason to improve themselves. They lift each other up.

They don’t have a strong opinion on spring. Does anyone? It’d be hard to believe, at least in their eyes; they wonder how someone could feel so strongly about something so middle-of-the-road. The temperatures all stay within a few degrees of each other. Day and night seem equal in length. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s average; painfully so. Neither boy likes how ‘average’ makes them feel, though. They’re both in middle school prep classes, they’re more academically and artistically inclined than most of their peers. In their world, they exist on a plane that’s far more than average, and they believe that their status makes for a good reason as to why they have such disdain for the word. There’s nothing special about spring, but the boys want special. They crave it, yearn for it. They live surrounded by the near-celestial grandeur that each other exude… They’re enigmas, they’re supernovas, they’re entire galaxies. Color and wonder and mystery. They’re captivating… So much more than the bland space dust of spring.

The return of summer. The return of their cliffside sleepovers, of less parental supervision, of a connection with the freeing feeling of nature. The air is hot and sticky, tasting vaguely of salt from the waters far below them. On top of the world, so close to touching the sun, they become finely tuned to the atmosphere’s changes. They’re able to tell when a thunderstorm is on its way from how their wind-whipped hair will stand on end, air becoming alight with static. Summer brings the sweltering oppression of heat, the revered solace of rain. The return to the cliffside brings the power of height, the feeling of invincibility they experience as they look over the open sea, arms spread wide to welcome the humid air and mouths open to expel shouts of glee. Summer indicates the shorter boy is eight now, meaning they’ve both celebrated birthdays this year, and he no longer feels like he’s falling behind. He’s still losing their competition of height, though, and now it’s by an even wider margin. Gone is the four-point-three inch disparity; it’s increased to a five-point-one inch difference. He’s self conscious about it (though he’d never bring himself to admit it) - thinks it’s unfair how his best friend gets to grow while he’s seemingly stuck despite all he does to try and grow alongside him.

Extracurriculars… They’re something special that both boys find themselves attached to. The younger, already planning years ahead for his soft childhood features to fade away into hardened muscle, joins a volleyball team. What he lacks in stature, he’ll make up for with sheer ambition. Ambition knows no bounds, he says, pallid skin flushed red from exertion. He fights tooth and nail, he plays dirty and underhanded, he denies the offer of libero and doesn’t want it just because he’s small and flexible, he does everything in his power until he’s playing in the position he’s desired for so long - middle blocker; relying on height. His best friend has asked him what he gains from cheating, why he uses dishonesty to his advantage, and it wedges a rift between them. Rainwater seeps into sidewalk, the ominous chill of misunderstanding freezes it, and as it thaws it leaves behind a crack in the solid foundation. Miniscule, yes. Obsolete, yes. Negligible, yes. But existent. The boys can’t see it, don’t realize it’s there, but it’s a stark reminder to the surrounding world that visible and real often will not coexist.

The older finds his place in the world of dance, his youthful form preferring the grace of ballet, ballroom, and contemporary. There’s a comfort he finds in rhythm, a sort of respite he receives from the music that flows through his veins. Academically proficient, especially in math, so counting in groups of three and four is nothing challenging. It’s cathartic, it’s a way to cope with the loss of his mother and sister, taken from him not by death, but by a loss of love; his mother packs two suitcases, one for herself and one for her daughter, and she leaves. She leaves her son alone, so he finds company in dance. He’ll make his best friend dance with him sometimes, coach him through the steps and let him tiptoe into his private safety. Dance is what brings them closer again, the cement that mends the sidewalk crack. They twirl in time with the wind, taking control of their movements instead of being overwhelmed by the gale forces. The taller boy realizes then that no loved one lasts forever, but he’ll always have someone or something to cling to.

Their favorite dance is the waltz, though their knobby knees and juvenile clumsiness leave the dance far from perfect. There’s something so enchanting about the rhythm of the dance, something that leaves them both breathless; the obsidian-haired boy explains it’s something called three-four, a concept the bicolored-haired boy doesn’t exactly understand. He can’t keep time with the “one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three” whispered in his ear, and instead uses the crashing waves below him as his metronome, keeping him from stumbling over his feet - at least eighty-nine percent of the time. The way they work is different, but they work together. A symbiotic relationship, mutual support… Atop the cliffside, swaying side to side with clasped hands, mirroring each other’s amused, awestruck grins, they’re fearless. High up, on top of the world, arms outstretched to reach the heavens, they’re fearless. Their dance becomes faster and faster, less of a waltz and more of a fandango, fiery and impassioned and reckless and bold. They touch the clouds, their fingers burn as they brush the surface of the sun. They touch the stars, their fingers freeze as they glide across the craters of the moon. They’re reaching higher and higher. They’re flying with wings of gold - unafraid.

They should have known acting with such temerarious abandon leads only to tragedy. It happens in the last days of summer, when the vacation bonfires don’t burn as long or as bright. It happens at dusk, when the sky is pink and purple like their ice skates and the sun and moon can coexist. It happens when they’re dancing too close to the edge, outstretched arms stretched over the precipice. It happens when the older boy falters in his counting. It happens when the tide is too low for the younger boy to keep a steady beat. It happens in a moment of confusion, it happens in a moment of miscommunication. It happens when one boy loses his balance and can’t find solid ground. It happens, and both boys find themselves too confused to scream. _Why?_ Why have their hands broken apart? Why has the sprightly laughter stopped, replaced by deafening silence? Why is the taller boy alone on the top of the cliff? Why, when he looks over the edge, does he see his best friend with mocha eyes wide in terror, the details on his face blurring as he descends? Why can’t he move? _Why can’t he save him?_

The younger boy hasn’t ever known what fear is, even now. Height isn’t scary, and the fall...it’s not scary either. The sun is behind him, below him; it’s golden hour at the cliff’s peak. There he is, his best friend shrouded in liquid sun. Apollo, he thinks. Strong and musical and the very sun himself. He’s becoming smaller and smaller by the second, and the shorter boy can start to hear the waves.  _ Of course he hears them now… _ There’s a flash of desire to save himself followed by a pang of realization that he can’t fly away. Gone are his wings, he must have forgotten them on the cliffside. There’s a golden halo around his still-standing best friend, there’s something lyrical about the way he’s screaming for the shorter boy to come back.  _ Apollo, _ he thinks, and he closes his eyes as the crashing of the waves overwhelms his small body.

At age eighteen - a full decade later - the boy of onyx locks and black goldstone irises is a middle blocker on his high school team. He’s close to all his teammates, he’s been made team captain for his final year, even, yet he can’t bring himself to explain to anyone the burden he carries from ten years of witnessing visions of an apparition with golden wings - a water-logged, seafoam-adorned Icarus who seems to have grown up alongside him - who haunts his every nightmare, his every daydream.

**Author's Note:**

> Now this... This is a CosmicallyLyss fic. If it made you upset or made you cry I am very sorry but,,,,, that was the intention. I just think a premise like this is so heartwrenching.... I originally wrote it for Haikyuu (kuroshou) but today I was like... hmm... let's make this ATEEZ!! And considering Yunho main dancer, San actually played volleyball in high school, the height difference........ everything about the dynamic I had created here was telling me to make this a YunSan story. I hope that if you took the time to read this story, you, well...enjoyed??? it as much as you possibly could, considering the content.......  
> And hey, if you lost some water through a stray tear or two... make sure to replenish by hydrating yourself!  
> xoxo, Lyss


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